


The Ballad of Dovahkiin and Harbinger

by Ecc0craft



Series: Tales of Skyrim [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bard Music, Companions Questline, Fate & Destiny, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Reluctant Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Skyrim Main Quest, Slow Burn, Talos worship, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-12 14:58:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17469764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecc0craft/pseuds/Ecc0craft
Summary: The lives of two merchants are changed forever when their caravan is caught in the middle of an imperial ambush on Ulfeic Stormcloak.One is taken to Helgen for execution while the other is left for dead. Destiny, however has other plans, and the actions of these unlikely heroes will decide the fate of all Skyrim.





	1. Songs and Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Let’s take a break from Overwatch and finally get some of my high school Skyrim fan fiction typed up.

The halls of Jorrvaskr were quiet in the early hours of this cold summer’s morning. The warriors that resided were all asleep or out on quests for the city.

A frightened scream broke the silence as Kodlak Whitemane, Harbinger of the companions, shot up from his bed in a cold sweat. He looked around uncertainly, realizing that he was back in his quarters and not in the cold stone dungeon of his dream.  
The Dream…  
It had been so vivid and yet he felt the details leaving his memory as water in a leaking pale.

He rose from his bed, stumbling over to his desk to retrieve his journal. Kodlak had never been a man to record his thoughts but had taken up the habit to cope with old age. He lit a candle and began to write:

_In my dream, I see the line of Harbingers start with Ysgramor. Each of them ascends to Sovngarde, until we come to Terrfyg, who first turned us to the ways of the beast. He tries to enter Sovngarde, but before he can even approach Tsun, he is set upon by a great wolf, who pulls him into the Hunting Grounds, where Hircine laughs with welcoming arms._  
_Terrfyg seems regretful, but also eager to join Hircine after a lifetime of service as a beast._  
_Then I see every next Harbinger turn away from Sovngarde and enter the Hunting Grounds of their own accord. Until it comes to me, and I see great Tsun on the misty horizon, beckoning me. It appears I have a choice. And then—_

Kodlak paused as he tried recalling the details of what happened next. He cursed his age and the rout that had rendered him feeble.

_Then, at my side, a stranger I had not seen before. As I look into their eyes, we turn to see the same wolf who dragged away Terrfyg. The stranger and I draw swords together as the wolf leaps upon us._

Not satisfied, Kodlak threw down the journal, unrolled a blank sheet of parchment and began furiously scribbling with the charcoals on his desk.  
It was the eyes, the eyes were all he could remember about the stranger. So full of sadness they had been, yet with such determination. A warrior’s eyes…a Harbinger’s eyes.

“Master Kodlak?” A meek voice asked from the dark.  
The old Harbinger was startled, cutting his thumb on the charcoal and staining the picture with a red streak of blood. Candlelight illuminated the weathered features of Tilma, the mead hall’s caretaker, her face scrunched up with worry.  
“Are you alright?” She asked. “I heard a scream…”

“Yes.” Kodlak lied. “Just a dream. Nothing to be concerned with.”  
He looked down at the rough sketch he had scribbled and the blood that now stained it. Kodlak gasped, holding the parchment to the light. The red ran straight across the eyes, a perfect likeness to what He had seen. Had it been blood in the dream? Or had it been war paint?

“Who is that?” Tilma asked, her grey brows furrowing.

The old Harbinger shook his head. “I don’t know…”

 

  
_We drink to our youth, to days come and gone. For the age of aggression is just about done._

_We'll drive out the Stormcloaks and restore what we own. With our blood and our steel, we'll take back our home._

_Down with Ulfric the killer of kings. On the day of your death we'll drink and we'll sing._

_We're the children of Skyrim, and we fight all our lives. And when Sovngarde beckons, every one of us dies!_

_But this land is ours and we'll see it wiped clean. Of the scourge that has sullied our hopes and our dreams._

Asmund Iron-Bane sipped his ale and kept a close eye on his brother as the young bard performed the song on his lute. He was grateful that Hammond had remembered to sing the pro-empire version of the lyrics while the caravan was in Falkreath.

Two towns before, the fool had mistakenly sung the pro-Stormcloak version and was driven out of the tavern. Not before causing a riot and nearly destroying it of course. Asmund had to step in and rescue him before the local guards threw him in jail.

It was the same kind of messy business he was always pulling Ham out of. It wasn’t like he had an opinion on the Skyrim politics one-way or the other but the bard should have been more careful. The suspicion that came with civil war had folks seeing enemies everywhere. Ham did not need to add to the chaos.

Though Ham insisted that the error was an honest oversight on his part, Asmund suspected the bard did it on purpose to avoid staying at the inn. Something about not liking the fireplace, said it spit cinders and would burn the whole place down while they slept. Or, the bard had done it because he found running from guards amusing. Whichever reason it was, Asmund was not impressed.

“By the eight.” He sighed, popping the stiff joints in his back. Age was creeping up on him, he could feel it in his tired, sore body and see it in the strands of grey that speckled his sandy blonde hair. It was nearing time to give up the trade caravan and settle down.

An old injury in his shoulder was aching more than usual. A wound he had sustained from an arrow while fighting in Hammerfell when the Redguards seceded from the empire. Even with the injury, he could fight as fearsome as any younger man, but the imperial legion didn’t want him. They said he was no use now that he couldn’t lift his war-hammer. He was sent home with barely a septum and the disgrace of an invalid. It was just as well in the end; the empire lost Hammerfell anyway and Asmund found work running the caravan with Mar, a brother in arms.

The music concluded and Poyo the Khajiit went around collecting gold while Ham bowed and prepared for the next song. Drunks clapped in approval and a red haired wench blew a kiss.

“Thank you, thank you! You are all too kind. What shall I play next? Any suggestions?” Ham asked with a showman’s smile.

“Old Joe Smoke!” Laughed a drunk. “Or another foot stompper. Like, Missy and the Jester!”

“Sing us a love song.” giggled a pair of milkmaids.

“Absolutely not!” Boomed a sell sword. Asmund guessed he was the girls’ father and hoped Ham got the hint to stay back. Ham’s popularity with the ladies had gotten them thrown out before.

“How about something that reminds us all that we are Nords and not the slaves of the empire and it’s elven masters.”

The entire inn went silent. Asmund was about to reprimand his fool of a brother for saying such a thing but it was not Ham who had spoken. He turned on his wooden stool to see an old Nord with a greying beard and a grim expression on his face. The old man wore expensive cloths, made of fur and green velvet, and had a noble air about him. Not the usual sort to support the Stormcloak rebels.

“Well, boy.” The old man grumbled. “Have you lost your tongue.”

“I try to consider the wishes of my other listeners, sir.” Ham tried deflecting only for the Nord to slam a fist on the table.

“It’s my Lord.” The old nord corrected. “You are speaking to Dengeir of Stuhn, formerly Jarl of the hold until imperials like you forced me out.”

“Imperials like me…” Ham’s green eyes narrowed with annoyance.

“Leave the boy alone.” Said the sell sword. “You are just being a paranoid old man.”

“It’s not paranoia if they’re actually out to get you.” Dengeir argued. “I have been watching this lad very closely, and I am sure he is a spy!”

“I have no quarrel with you _my lord_.” Ham said, making sure to stress the last two words. Asmund could tell Ham was holding back a slew of remarks that would no doubt get him in trouble. At least he was behaving this time.

“Then you won’t have much trouble honoring my request.” Dengeir crossed his arms.

Ham’s eyes flicked over to Asmund, silently asking for assistance, also warning that if Asmund didn’t step in he would let the old man have it. Asmund cleared his throat, finding a middle ground, something unapologetically Nordic but appealing to the Imperials as well.

“The Dragonborn Comes. Sing about the legend.” Asmund said finally.

The old Nord gave a nod of approval and Ham smiled, pointing to Poyo. “Grab your flute, cat. I will be needing your help with this one.”

“Right, hold the gold for us, boss.” Poyo tossed the collection hat to Asmund and scuttled to the side to get the flute. The Khajiit had begun life as a thief but found his true calling in showmanship. Asmund had worried about letting him join the caravan but Poyo had proven a loyal worker and friend. The Khajiit took a cross-legged seat on the chair by Ham and raised the flute to his mouth to begin the old melody.

_Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart._  
_I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes._  
_With a voice wielding power of the ancient Nord art._  
_Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes._  
_It's an end to the evil, of all Skyrim's foes._  
_Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes._  
_For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows._

_You'll know, you'll know the Dragonborn's come._

Ham’s voice soared, demanding the attention of all who heard it. Asmund had always been a man of few words, believing that his actions spoke better. Even he had to marvel at the power of his brother’s voice. Ham’s honeyed words could entrance old and young alike. His knack for persuasion made him a valuable addition to the merchant caravan and the supplemental gold from his tavern performances was most welcome. Asmund only wished the bard was not such a pull for trouble.

With the first verse over, Poyo began to drum a beat into the inn’s stone floor and was joined by the sell sword, a guard and Dengeir. The drunk made a deep sound in the back of his throat, the beginning of a chant that the rest of the inn continued. Ham took in a breath, ready for the song’s climax.

_Dragonborn, Dragonborn, by his honor is sworn, To keep evil forever at bay!_  
_And the fiercest foes rout when they hear triumph's shout, Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray!_

_Hearken now, sons of snow, to an age, long ago, and the tale, boldly told, of the one!_  
_Who was kin to both wyrm, and the races of man, with a power to rival the sun!_

_And the Voice, he did wield, on that glorious field, when great Tamriel shuddered with war!_  
_Mighty Thu'um, like a blade, cut through enemies all, as the Dragonborn issued his roar!_

_And the scrolls have foretold, of black wings in the cold, that when brothers wage war come unfurled!_

_Alduin, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound, with a hunger to swallow the world!_  
_But a day, shall arise, when the dark dragon's lies, will be silenced forever and then!_  
_Fair Skyrim will be free from foul Alduin's maw, Dragonborn be the savior of men!_

A smile rose to Asmund’s face as he remembered his nordic roots. He had been born in Skyrim, growing up in Helgen before his father’s legion company was called back to Cyrodiil. Ham and their sisters had been born in the empire and knew nothing of the icy north. Asmund was the only one of his siblings that shared their mother’s Nordic features, blonde hair, blue eyes and resistance to the cold. The others took after their Imperial father, all four raven haired and silver tongued.

It made Ham stand out here in Skyrim and sometimes that attracted the wrong kind of attention. The old man was far from the first Nord to be suspicious of Ham and if the civil war continued much longer, he would not be the last. War had left an ugly mark on Skyrim, but it would always be Asmund’s home.

Through his time in the empire, he longed to return to the land of ice and snow. On his first trip back to Skyrim he nearly wept at the sight of the snowy peaks. How he had missed the cool air and the radiant lights in the night sky. Wonders that he saw nowhere else. He was sure he would never see anything more beautiful...that is, until he met Isabau.

He first glimpsed her in Dawnstar, helping a miner unload a barrel of ore. Even covered in the dirt and soot of the mine, she was beautiful. Her sun golden hair was impossibly bright against the decorate backdrop of the old northern hold. Her eyes were dark and kind like a doe’s and her lips like delicate red mountain blossoms. It took a tankard of ale and much hounding from Ham for Asmund to work up his nerve to speak to her.

When she smiled at him it was like everything in the world made sense. His wound in battle, his discharge from the legion, all the hardships he had endured so he could meet her.

Isabau was a miner’s daughter and new the trade well. That is why she left with the caravan as the mine’s representative. Life outside the city proved challenging at first but Asmund took care to teach her how to fight and trade. They grew close over their travels and eventually became lovers.

Their courtship had lasted five years now. Asmund was ready to take the next step. He patted the breast pocket of his tunic to make sure the ring was still there. He reached inside, pulling it out to admire it. The shopkeeper he bought it off was insistent that it was too plain and that an engagement band needed a diamond or some other precious stone. That did not suit his Isabau. She was indeed a fair beauty but also practical, taught from surviving in the scarce hold of the Pale. A simple golden band with ancient runes of Kine seemed more to her likeness.

Asmund breathed in longingly. He would ask her soon. They just needed to resupply in the imperial city. He would have Mar take over for him as the leader. If Ham was older or had an ounce of responsibility, he would entrust it to him. There was no changing the bard, however. He seemed content to spend the rest of his days wandering from place to place and chasing one skirt or another.

Speaking of Ham, the music had stopped and now one of the local bards was setting up to perform. Poyo too had vanished without a trace.

“Oh, what now.” Asmund grumbled, placing the ring back in his pocket. “Where have you gone fool?”

Dengeir tapped him on the arm, gesturing for the door. “If you’re looking for the imperial, three men just came in asking about the cat and took them outside.”

Asmund groaned. This had to be trouble, it could never be anything else.


	2. Fool and Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cat and the fool are the finest of friends.

It was only just past mid-day, not an ideal time to start a fight. Ham didn’t even know why this group of what could only be described as thugs, was hassling Poyo. They were certainly not high-class mercenaries as they had claimed, going by their crude leather armor and unkempt hair and beards.

“Tell me again what you want.” Ham asked the ginger Nord in the center he deduced was the leader. His armor was a slightly better variant and same for his war-hammer.

“Your cat stole something. Our boss wants it back.” The mercenary rasped irritably. “Get out of the way!”

“That’s not going to happen.” Ham stood defiantly. They wouldn’t even say what was stolen, it made him doubt their whole story.

“I didn’t steal anything!” Poyo protested, peaking out from behind Ham. “Classic Nords, always blaming the Khajiit.”

“Boss said if you don’t have it, then we’re supposed to teach you a lesson.” The nord said as he tapped his war-hammer threateningly.

“Well, Don’t,” Ham said, producing a pouch full of gold from his pocket. “and say you did.”

“Can’t bribe your way out of this one, bard!” The thug growled.

“Is that what all of you think?” Ham took a step forward and looked past the man at the other two mercenaries. He jingled the coin purse but neither seemed interested. “How disappointing.”

With a flick of his wrist, he threw a handful of salt into the nord’s eyes and slammed his fist into the man’s nose. He had the coin purse between his knuckles, using the gold to harden the impact. The thug reeled blindly with a curse. He tried raising his hammer only to be kicked in the shin, kneed in the groin and brought to the ground. Ham was too close for such a long and heavy weapon as a hammer to be effective. The thug on the left tried stepping in to help his fallen comrade but found himself nose to nose with the tip of Ham’s steel dagger. The bard had one hidden on his person at all times. The thug on the right had already dropped his sword and started backing away.

“Smart man.” Ham grinned before turning his full attention on the thug at the end of his dagger. “How about you, are you smart?”  
The man joined his companion and they took off in the opposite direction. Take out their leader and watch them scatter. Typical low level thug mentality. 

Unfortunately for Ham, the leader still had fight in him and was dexterous enough to sweep his legs and knock Ham’s out from under him. The bard tried to recover but the thug lunged at him, wrapping his arms around his waist. Ham’s back hit the cobblestone street and he had just enough time to cover his face to protect it from the man’s punches. 

“You broke my nose, bastard!” The nord howled, using his superior weight to keep the bard pinned down. Ham took a swing at him with his dagger but missed. The thug took the opportunity to attack Ham’s now unprotected face. One punch hit him in the jaw, breaking the skin around his lip.

“Get off him!”

Poyo drew his dagger to stab the nord but Asmund appeared and pulled the man off of Ham before he could. The thug took a swing at Asmund but it was like hitting a stone wall. Once the tug saw that Asmund was a head taller and twice as broad as he was he put up his palms defensively and backed away.

“Victory is yours, I submit!”

“Touch my brother again and I will put a rope around your neck and drag your body behind my horse!” Asmund boomed as the thug retreated in terror.

“Teach me how to be intimidating like that.” Ham smirked, wiping the blood gushing from his lip. Asmund frowned, pulling Ham to his feet and socking him in the shoulder.

“Five minutes! You can’t behave yourself for five minutes?!” Asmund grumbled. “I Can’t take my eyes off you without you causing trouble!”

Ham rubbed his shoulder, hissing in pain. “It wasn’t my fault!”

“You threw the first punch. I saw you!”

“Then you saw that they wanted to hurt Poyo!” Ham argued, swollen lip quivering with anger. “I couldn’t just let them!”

“Of course not, but you should have called the guards instead of engaging them.” Asmund sighed, rubbing his temples. “The guards are posted around the city for a reason.”

“You’re assuming that they’d actually help?” Ham frowned, crossing his arms. “The guards here in Skyrim don’t care about anyone who isn’t a Nord.”

“That isn’t true. You are making excuses for your own stupid decisions.” Asmund scolded, eyes narrowing. “It’s the same damn thing, over and over again. Take some responsibility for once!”

Ham’s shoulders fell and he stared at the ground. “I’m sorry, brother.”  
Asmund didn’t reply, only turned his attention to Poyo.

“Cat!” Asmund boomed and Poyo jumped in place. “Collect the rest of our things, we are leaving Falkreath.”

“Yes, boss.” Poyo said, scampering to Ham’s side. He picked up their bags, handed Ham back his lute, and also snatched the war-hammer. Ham raised an eyebrow at him so Poyo replied, “What? We can sell it.”

“Let’s go.” Asmund ordered, leading them to where the wagons were parked. Isabau saw them coming and ran to greet them.

“Ready to depart, my love?” She asked Asmund, cupping his face and kissing his lips. She saw the state of Ham behind him and her brow furrowed. “Oh! What have you done now, Ham? Were you flirting with a man’s wife again?”

“No!” Ham exclaimed, ears red. “I was—”

She moved over to him and tilted his chin down and to the side so she could see his wound. Clicking her tongue in disapproval, she shook her head. “You have made quite the mess of yourself, little pup.” 

“Do not mother him, Isabau. He is in trouble.” Asmund grumbled, only for his lover to pinch his cheek.

“It isn’t like we’ve never had to patch you up after a fight. Most of the time Thistle has her hands full healing the pair of you.” Isabau scolded, before shouting behind the cart. “Thistle! Come here a moment.”

A hooded Redguard mage popped up from a patch of flowers, already one hand glowing with a healing spell. With how many times the men in the caravan came back from a fight, she automatically knew to have her magic ready. She let out a huff when she saw Ham’s swollen and bloody face.

“Gods, Ham! Tell me the other guy looks worse.” She whistled, holding her hand up to the wound, the golden magic sewing it closed. “Did he knock any of your teeth out?”

“No.” Ham paused, sticking a finger in his mouth to check for sure. “Why?”

Thistle giggled, mischief in her dark steely eyes. “If you do loose teeth during a fight, can you save them and bring them to me? I need them for...research purposes.”

Ham looked at her in confusion but nodded his head. It was best not to question Thistle about such things.  
“I’ll make sure to do that.” He managed a smile.

The mage giggled and happily clapped her hands together. Ham rubbed his jaw, gingerly as it was still sore despite the magic. He would have a bruise too, he was sure.

“Everybody, climb aboard your wagons!” Asmund ordered as he mounted his horse. A fine dappled mare that he had named Star.

Isabau got on the lead wagon, taking hold of the reins and driving the mules to follow him. Thistle mounted the second wagon, driven by Mar. The Orc spared Ham a glance, nearly apologetic, before mushing the mules to follow Isabau. Poyo had already taken second position on the third wagon so it was up to Ham to drive. 

The caravan pulled out of Falkrieth, heading east for the border. It would not reach the destination until the following day. That meant camping on the road instead of at an inn. None of the party were opposed to sleeping outside but the roads still were dangerous, especially at night. It wasn’t until sunset that Asmund pulled them over to set up camp.

The women got out the ingredients for super. Mar and Asmund took up the task of securing the wagons and pitching the tents.As usual, it was up to Ham and Poyo to collect the firewood.Lucky for them, there was a large fallen tree not too far from camp. Both grabbed axes and started chopping. Poyo was the one to make conversation since Ham had been set on moping the whole day.

“Thanks again for sticking up for me back there.” The Khajiit said, before a chop. “You don’t need to keep doing that.”

“Yes, I do, Poyo. You’re my friend.” Ham replied, picking up a stack of chopped logs. “It wasn’t right that they accused you of theft just because you’re a Khajiit.”

“About that...” Poyo chuckled nervously, tail twitching. “Promise you won't get angry...”

Ham stopped in his tracks, dropped the logs and glared at the Khajiit that looked more and more guilty. “Poyo, you didn’t...”

“Please don’t be mad.”

“Ugg! I can’t believe you!” Ham groaned, throwing his arms in the air. “I thought you were done with thieving!”

“What? You know I can’t help myself sometimes.” Poyo pressed down his ears in a pout. “Besides, if it was so valuable, that noble shouldn’t have just left it on a random table.”

“What did you steal?!” Ham demanded. Not caring for Poyo’s reasons.

The Khajiit produced a small gold box from his coat pocket. He opened the lid and inside was an unusual, pink gem. It reflected the light in ways Ham had never seen, almost appearing to float in its box.

Ham raised an eyebrow, frowning. He tried his best to look as cross as Asmund but he couldn’t get the glare right. “You had it the whole time?”

“Yes...” Poyo admitted, guiltily. “I would have given it up if things got ugly, I swear!”

“Things DID get ugly.” The bard huffed. “We could have avoided the whole fight if you had just fessed up to what you’d done.”

“I think those thugs would have fought us no matter what I did.” Poyo shrugged, Putting the box back into his pocket. “You saw them, they’d rather fight than take the gold you offered.”

“I would have helped you either way.” Ham grumbled. “You could have helped during the fight, but you just hid behind me like a fraidy-cat.”

“Don’t call me that!” Poyo snapped, ears turning back and his fur standing up.

“Asmund blames ME for what happened. He didn’t shout at you.”

A look of understanding crossed Poyo’s furry feathers. He knelt down, picking up the logs Ham had dropped. “I know…and I’m sorry, but your brother will come around. He huffs and he puffs, but that’s only because he worries about you. He can’t be angry forever.”

“That is not my point.” Ham sighed. “I fought for you because you are my friend. My friend who, I believed to be innocent but was completely guilty.”

Poyo’s ears stayed pressed down. “I’m sorry…” his ears perked up slightly. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh? How?” Ham scoffed. 

“Maybe next time, I snatch you something. Maybe a new bowstring or a shiny new dagger. The one you have there has seen better days.” Poyo’s tail swished nervously as he awaited his friend’s response.

“You really must be sorry.” Ham rolled his eyes, picking up the rest of the wood. “You could always buy me something. No need to steal it.”

“I can also make some of my special mead. The one with snow berries and a pinch of moon sugar.” Poyo added. “And I’ll help you with that song you’re writing.”

“You are not bribing your way out of this.” Ham snorted, echoing the thug. “That was quite the beating I took.”

“Don’t be like that, Fool. I really am sorry.” Poyo wined. “Do you want me to wash your socks for a week? What will it take to make you happy?”

“How about you owe me one?” Ham smirked, evilly. “A favor I can hold over your head as long as I like.”

Poyo frowned, cutting Ham off just before reaching camp. “Deal, now can you go back to being yourself and stop with the belly aching?”

“Sure, Cat.” Ham chuckled, his angry subsiding. Now he just had to think of an adequate way to get back at his friend.

They got to camp, set up the wood and it was up to Thistle to light it. Ham stood well back from the flames as Thistle’s hand launched them at the wood. He would always be amazed at how the magic never burned her fingers. As the fire danced he ran a hand along his right leg and the scar beneath his britches. Ever so often he could still feel it burn.

Isabau stirred a cooking pot above the flames, warming the cabbage stew with the last of the venison from Ham’s hunt. He wasn’t all trouble, he thought. He could still provide food for everyone. Asmund complained about that too, said it was poaching. Ham couldn’t see how shooting one deer would hurt anyone. His brother didn’t say anything when his belly was full.

The others ate quickly but Ham sat in his thoughts until the stew went cold. He wasn’t still upset about what Asmund had said…well he was, but he tried distracting himself with the song he was writing.  
Long after the others went to their tents, he stayed outside, using the light from the fire to write in his journal. He had a melody for the song but still struggled with the lyrics. He had promised his muse that they would do her justice.

A chill ran down his spine as the flames died before him. He felt a burning in his throat and behind his eyes that he guessed was from the smoke. There was a strange sound on the wind, almost like a pair of great wings. Ham also swore he heard a voice. Instinctively, he looked up to see if a bird flew overhead, or if some bandit was mocking him, but there was nothing but the moons and the trees.

“My imagination.” Ham murmured. His eyes still burned and he rubbed them sleepily. He best be getting to bed anyway. The song could wait until morning.


	3. The Storm and Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asmund thinks about the future dawning for him with Isabau.

Asmund sighed contentedly as he rolled off of Isabau. His chest moving up and down as he caught his breath. Isabau snuggled up next to him, resting her head on his chest as he embraced her with one of his massive arms.

“I will give you a son someday.” She mumbled as she kissed a line up to his neck. “He will have golden hair and be as strong and as fierce as a lion. Just like his father.”

“Do you think the others heard us?” Asmund murmured.

“Do we care at this point?” Isabau snickered, pressing another kiss to his neck. “It is not as if they are oblivious to our passion.”  
Asmund sighed, gazing blankly at the roof of the tent.  
Isabau frowned, sitting up to look him in the face. “What’s troubling you?”

“Ahh, It’s nothing I need to bother you with..”Asmund grimaced, shaking his head. “Let us talk of other things.”

“Is this about what happened with you and Ham in Falkreath?” Isabau asked. She had known the brothers long enough to feel the tension between them even when they were silent.

“What am I going to do with him?” Asmund sighed, rubbing his stubbly beard.

“We could always send him to the bard’s college.” Isabau suggested. “He would do well there. Less opportunities to get into fights in Solitude.”

Asmund snorted, shaking his head. “His antics back at the school in Cyridiil are the reason mother sent him with the caravan in the first place. She thought traveling would teach him responsibly.”

“He has gotten better, Asmund.” Isabau said with a chuckle. “I remember when you first brought him to Skyrim, the little scoundrel was insufferable.” She ran a hand through her long gold hair and began braiding it. “You both have grown through our travels. You smile much more, for one thing.”

“You know why that is.” Asmund grinned, raising up his hand to cup her face.

“I don’t think I am the only reason.” Isabau whispered. “You are proud of what you built with this caravan. I think you are proud of the little pup too.”

“Proud of him?”

“Why wouldn’t you be? You’ve raised him almost half his life.” She shrugged. “You’ve taught him to stand up for his friends. That is what the fight yesterday was about, wasn’t it?”

Asmund watched her fingers twist her braid. “Yes…” he said distractedly. “—But he should not thrown the first punch. It was reckless.”

“If it were you, you would have done the same thing.” Isabau sighed, letting the braid unravel. “You know how he admires you.”

“Poyo may have taught him how to use a knife but he is far from a warrior.” Asmund argued, but Isabau was right.  
When he and Mar were in the legion he did not tolerate any ill words directed at his Orcish friend. He had always taught Ham to treat his friends the same, especially when Poyo joined. Maybe it _was_ his fault that Ham was a fighter. The thought made his stomach twist. “I don’t want him getting hurt.”

“I know you worry, but Ham is not helpless. He is strong enough to Learn the tough lessons that come with his actions.” Isabau brushed a loose lock of hair away from Asmund’s face.  
The crows feet around his tired eyes always crinkled more when he was upset. Time was not being kind, to him. The stress of travel along with the ghosts of war had caused plenty of age lines. It made him no less handsome though Isabau feared for his health if he continued to go on as he did.  
“I want you to think of your own needs.” She took his hand and laid it on her belly. The very spot where she hopped a bump would grow. “Think of the future we could have together.”

Asmund opened his mouth to reply only for Thistle’s whistle to cut through the morning silence. Both of them groaned as they knew they must rise to break camp. Isabau ran a gentle thump along Asmund’s cheek before she rolled of the bedroll and slipped her loose fitting tunic over her head. Next she pulled on her trousers and boots, Asmund watching her the whole time. Only when she was gone did he remember the gold band in his own tunic.

Isabau left the tent to find Thistle stirring up paste in one of her alchemy bowls. It was lumpy grey and smelled of fish and mushrooms. The mage smiled a greeting to Isabau and offered some. Which Isabau politely declined.

“Suit yourself.” Thistle whistled, spooning some into her mouth. “It will give you energy for hours.”

It was the men who needed an energy boost, Isabau thought. Asmund had still not emerged from the tent. Poyo was still asleep, curled up by the fire embers and quietly purring. Mar only looked half awake as he chewed a hard piece of salt beef for breakfast. Ham was the only one besides Thistle who was up and about but his eyes were droopy and his hair unkempt.

“You don’t look like you slept a wink.” Isabau greeted, half scolding as she used her fingers to brush Ham’s hair back.“Up all night writing?”

“Good morning, sister.” The bard replied, not answering her question.  
Isabau liked being acknowledged as his family. It made her happy that Ham thought of her as such, even if she and Asmund were unmarried.  
“I thought I heard something last night. It was nothing but I still found myself tossing and turning in my bedroll.”  
“We’ll be back in Cyrodiil soon. You will feel better then.” Isabau assured him. She checked his jaw and the bruise that had bloomed upon it. Ham’s sleepless night might have had more to do with the pain he felt and less with the sound he heard, Isabau thought.

“We should get moving.” Asmund said as he emerged from the tent. “I want to reach the border by this afternoon.” He and Ham made eye contact briefly but the younger brother turned away without a word.

“One of these days I am going to lock you two in a room and not open the door until you’ve sorted out your differences.” Isabau threatened as she nudged Ham in the shoulder.

“I can pick locks.” Ham smirked. “…and Asmund is so strong he could break the door down.”

“Not if Mar is the doorstop.” Isabau chuckled as the Orc raised his head questioningly. “You would be utterly trapped.”

Ham’s brows furrowed as he crossed his arms and scrunched up his shoulders. “Vile, sadistic woman…” he huffed, adding a wink to show he wasn’t serious.

“I said: Everyone get moving. Ham, make sure to put out our fire.” Asmund ordered as he began rolling up his tent. Isabau joined him while Ham grabbed a bucket and filled it by a stream.

When he returned, the embers already looked to be cold, but Poyo was still asleep. Without a word he dumped the water over Poyo’s head, eliciting a high pitched yowl from the Khajiit. Poyo leaped up, drawing his dagger and looked around ears twitching, hair standing on end.

“Rise and shine, Cat.” Ham grinned, placing down the bucket.

“That is no way to wake a man up!” Poyo hissed, pressing down his ears. “No special mead for you.”

“I believe I will survive.” Ham laughed. “Now help pack up camp.”

It took another half hour for the caravan to get moving again. During that time a mysterious fog rolled in and settled on the ground like a ghostly white blanket. That is how Asmund told himself they got turned around. The road sighs were in criminal disrepair and after wandering in circles for several hours, the merchant admitted that they were lost. Rain began to fall at midday, forcing them to take shelter on the side of the road until it let up.

Thistle loved the weather and quickly left the wagons to harvest ingredients. Mar went out too, keeping a watchful eye on the alchemist mage as she looked for insects in the wet grass.

“Do you hear that, Mar?” She exclaimed, cupping a hand to her ear. “That chiming sound…Nirnroot! Help me find it!”

“Don’t go too far!” Asmund warned as Thistle dashed forward on her search with Mar close behind her. Looking to the sky, the storm showed no signs of stopping. At least the rains were not as freezing as they were further north.

Poyo had complained about the bucket of water this morning but now he was soaked to the bone. He looked perfectly miserable as he leaned against the wagon, taking what shelter he could under a pine tree. He twirled his dagger in one pawed hand and fought the urge to lick the rain away from the other.

Ham had found better shelter using the wagons to shield himself from the wind and water. He sat cross legged and was humming a tune while he wrote in his journal. Asmund had not heard the particular melody before. It was oddly sad as well as uplifting. Similar to the song about the civil war. From how intently Ham was writing, Asmund could tell it meant a lot to him.

“Is that a new one.” Asmund remarked, hoping Ham would answer. The conversation with Isabau was still fresh in his mind; it was time to make peace for their squabble.

Ham looked up at him, nodding his head. “I am still working on the lyrics.”

“What’s it about?” Asmund asked, though he doubted he could help. He’d never been good with pretty words.

After a moment of hesitation, Ham closed his Journal and replied vaguely. “A Warrior.”

Asmund snorted in amusement. Ham didn’t honestly think he could hide things from him, did he? “Pretty tune like that? It must be about a woman.”

The bard’s ears became pink. “Yes... A Warrior woman.”

“A woman that has captured your attention for more than a single evening?” Asmund laughed. “Where is this goddess?”

“Probably out having an adventure.” Ham explained. “She’s a Legend in the Reach…and I want to chronicle her deeds with a song.”

Asmund found himself smiling. Ham always got up to less trouble when he was inspired. Yet, he could tell Ham felt more for this muse than even he cared to admit. Heartbreak in Cyrodiil when Ham was only thirteen had made him cynical of the emotion of love. Asmund himself had been guilty of the same, until Isabau came along.

“Hammond…” He began, ducking behind the wagons to sit at his brother’s side. “I want to explain why I was so hard on you, yesterday.”

Ham tensed, rubbing his jaw. “Alright…”

With a sigh, Asmund continued. “I will not always be around to protect you. I have done my best…but I am not our father…”

“What are you—”

“I am going to leave the caravan, Ham.” Asmund produced the ring from his pocket and held it in his palm. Ham tilted his head inquisitively. “I am going to ask Isabau to marry me and we are going to settle down. I won’t be there if—”

“That’s wonderful news!” Ham exclaimed. “You’ve finally got the ring after so long!”

Asmund’s face remained serious. “If you stay with the caravan. I won’t be around to get you out of trouble. I need to know you can take care of yourself when I am gone.” Ham nodded in promise. Asmund put a big hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I am proud of you. When you see something unjust, you are the first to stand up and call it out. You protect your friends and show mercy to your foes…but you need to be careful. Don’t be so quick to enter a fight.”

“That’s not very Nord like.” Ham admitted. “Nords never back down.”

“Imperials use their heads. You are a child of both.” Asmund said. “You have a gift with words, little brother. Raise your voice, not your sword. Do whatever you can to avoid a fight but if you must fight, never back down an inch.”

“I will.” Ham promised, eyes earnest.

“Mmm, Good.” Asmund replied, feeling a weight leave his shoulders. He knew Ham understood, he was a smart lad.

“So…when are you going to ask Isabau?” Ham inquired, looking expectant.

“Oh…I…” He hadn’t really planned that part. He had almost asked this morning but was interrupted. Maybe he would wait until they crossed the border.

Asmund looked to where his love stood. As if by magic, the storm relented and the sun peaked out of the clouds l. It shined down on her and her golden hair as she walked out from her shelter. She smiled her divine smile, happy the rain had passed.

“Like a sign from the gods.” Ham chuckled. “They must be telling you that now is the time.”

Asmund took a deep breath, gazing at the ring in his palm. Ham nudged him towards her just as he had years ago and with that, Asmund strode to his future with a spring in his step.


	4. Till death do we part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asmund asks Isabau the big question and they live happily ever after.

“Look, Poyo, I had a new idea for our act.” Ham grinned as he lucked his journal into his tunic. He selected three red apples from a barrel and started juggling them. “It will be like this, only I you will be playing on your flute and dancing.”

The Khajiit shook of the rain in his fur, scoffing at the bard’s statement. “Impressive, but if we really wanted to get people’s attention you could juggle daggers.”

“And risk loosing a finger?” Ham chuckled, still keeping his attention on the apples. “How would I play my lute?”

“Blunted daggers, they’ll still look the part.” Poyo clarified. He tapped his furry chin and his ears stood up with an idea. “You should wear red, maybe only your trousers and we can paint you up on top. I’ll play my drum instead and use a beat to make the crowd nervous. Unknown to them, I have made little pots full of fire salts with a fuse. They will explode for the finale!”

“Eh…no fire.” Ham faltered, nearly dropping an apple. Sometimes Poyo had too good an imagination and no regard for structural safety. “Everything else sounds exciting.”

“Why are you thinking up a new act anyway?” Poyo asked, snatching one apple out of the air. Ham caught the two remaining and looked over his shoulder.

“Asmund and Isabau are finally getting married.” He whispered. “If they leave the caravan…well I don’t fancy being a merchant forever so I thought you and I could band together.”

“The Jester and his steward.” Poyo grinned. “You are the talent and I am the brains of our operation. Everyone knows I am the smart one.”

“Smart one? I taught you how to read!” Ham scoffed.

“And now I do it better than you, Fool.” Poyo cackled. He looked around, one ear moving down and the other staying up. “Hey, where is everyone else?”

Ham looked over his shoulder again and shrugged. “Thistle and Mar are still looking for bugs, I think. Asmund is asking Isabau, the question.”

A short distance away, Asmund was preparing to do just that. Isabau had seen a sign just up the road and gone to investigate. He would wait for her in the middle, just so they would have some privacy. With how much Ham chattered, the others would know soon if they didn’t already.

“The sign says we are close to Darkwater crossing.” Isabau said as she walked up to Asmund. “There is still time to reach the border by nightfall.” Asmund caught her wrist as she tried walking past him. She gave a curious look and Asmund felt his tongue tie itself in a knot. “Asmund, you’re trembling. Is everything alright?”

“I…I love you.” Asmund said finally.

“I know.” Isabau smiled. “I love you too.”

Asmund warped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her temple. This should not have been as hard as it was but Asmund never had a way with words. “I was thinking about what you said this morning…about our future.”

“Oh?” Isabau asked, rubbing his back and planting a kiss on his chin.

“That’s what I want. You are what I need.” He pulled away so he could look her in the eye. He produced the gold ring and Isabau’s eyes lit up. “Marry me.”

“Asmund!” Isabau exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hand. “How long have—”

Asmund took her other hand and slowly slid the ring on her finger. “Let’s settle down here in Skyrim.”  
“Yes!”  
“We can get a house in Whiterun neutral from the war.”  
“Yes!”  
Asmund scooped her up and she put her arms around his neck as he spun her around. “We’ll raise our golden haired children there. My lion hearted son and a daughter I can spoil rotten!”

“Yes! A thousand times yes!” Isabau cried, kissing him hard as he set her down. She held out her arm, admiring the gold on her finger. “Where should we hold the ceremony? I need a dress…or I suppose my blue tunic will do. Oh by the nine! I need to write my mother, tell her the good news!”

“I am glad you are excited.” Asmund chuckled warmly. “As soon as we regroup in Cyrodiil, we can set the date.”

“Hey you! Get away from that horse!” Poyo’s voice called out.  
Isabau and Asmund turned to see what was going on and saw the Khajiit struggling with a filthy looking man. The thief had Star by the reins and one foot caught in the stirrup. Poyo knocked the man to the ground, giving him a good kick in the ribs before drawing his dagger.  
“You picked the wrong mark, thief!” The Khajiit growled.

“Don’t kill him, Cat.” Ham said, grabbing Poyo by the arm before he could stab the thief. “You of all people know everyone steals for a reason.” He turned back to the man, narrowing his eyes. “Now explain yourself, thief. Did you need food? Supplies maybe?”

The thief looked up at him in disbelief but didn’t answer the question. Suddenly, another man stumbled out of the trees. This one wore armor with a blue surcoat and was bleeding from a wound in his right arm. He collapsed a few feet from the wagons with a pained groan.

“By the gods! Are you alright?!” Ham asked as he dashed to the man’s side. He dug in one of his pockets for a piece of linen to stop the bleeding. He gasped when he went to bind the wound and saw the emblem of a bear stitched into the hide on the man’s back. “…a Stormcloak soldier? Here?!”

With the merchants distracted, the thief leapt to his feet, throwing dust in Poyo’s face before getting back on Star. The man dug his heels into the horse’s side and road off.  
Poyo rubbed his eyes with a hiss and a curse. “Damned Thief! Get back here!” He shouted as he chased after them.

More people marched out from the trees. These were tall, with gold and red armor with wing ortementatinon on their helmets. One wore heavy purple robes that had a hood casting shadows on his angular face. Thalmor, high elves from the Summerset isles. There were few here in Skyrim, those that were stood with the Empire in opposition to Ulfric and his rebellion.

“Run lad…they’ll kill you if they see you helping me…” The wounded Stormcloak warned.

It was too late. The elves drew their swords as soon as the saw Ham. All but the hooded one who held lightning magic in his hands.  
“Get back, peasant. You are interfering with official Thalmor business.” The hooded elf hissed. When Ham hesitated he sent a bolt of lightning at the bard’s feet. “That man is a traitor. Back away!”

The lightning made Ham flinch but he’d seen Thistle perform more frightening spells. His expression stayed neutral as he complied, backing up slowly. “What will happen to him?”

“That is none of your concern.” Said the Hooded elf. One of the others was moving closer with his sword and and murder in his eyes. It wasn’t hard to guess what he planned to do with it.

“He’s unarmed…defeated .” Ham said, trying to defuse things. “Take him into your custody and let him stand trial.”

Poyo had disappeared with Star and the thief and there was no sign of Mar or Thistle. Asmund and Isabau were a short distance away. A group of Imperial Soldiers, too large to be a normal patrol, that appeared out of nowhere was blocking them from the wagons. The sound of their approach must have been mistaken for the rolling thunder. 

“There wasn’t supposed to be any caravans here, what if they are spies?” Said one of the Imperial Soldiers.

“Spies? What are you talking about?! We just want to return to Cyrodiil!” Isabau barked as the soldiers began going through the goods on the wagons.

“Please, we are simple merchants.” Asmund tried explaining. “I’m retired Legion, just looking to feed my family.”

“Then you won’t mind us taking a look at things.”

“I mind!” Isabau growled. “You’re liable to break something.” As if to illustrate her point, one of the soldiers knocked over Ham’s lute sending it into the mud, it’s strings snapping.

“This is your last warning!” The hooded Thalmor boomed.

On the other side of the soldiers, Ham stood between the Thalmor and the Stormcloak. “You would kill an unarmed man in cold blood? In front of one of your citizens?! All of Tamriel will hear of this villainy! I am a bard and will make sure of it!”

“Sir, perhaps we should reconsider.” Said another armored elf. “We already have half of Skyrim against us as it is.”

The hooded Thalmor brushed her off. “Troublesome bard’s are easily intimidated into silence.” He pointed to Ham, addressing the elf with the sword. “Slice his cheek and if that doesn’t shut him up, cut out his tongue.”

“No! Don’t hurt him!” Isabau cried as the Thalmor advanced. 

Asmund tried to get to Ham but the Imperials continued to block his path. He shoved one out of the way only for the others to draw swords. “Will you stand for this?! The empire will let the elves harm it’s citizens?!”

“They warned him.” Grimaced the one Asmund shoved. “There is nothing we can—”

“You cowards!” Isabau interrupted.

The clang of metal on metal made both sides stop. The Thalmor had swung his sword at Ham but the bard blocked with with his dagger. Everyone was so transfixed on the bard and the elves that no one heard the heavy sound of boots until it was too late.

Out from an adjacent patch of trees emerged a company of Stormcloak soldiers. Leading them was a tall bearded man with dirty blonde hair and looked as broad and as fierce as a bear. His dark eyes cut through the imperials like cold steel as a frown creased his brow and something low rumbled in his throat.

“Ulfric...” Asmund said, feeling the air leave his lungs. The rebel leader was here, not more than six meters away. To his horror, the Thalmor and the Imperials did not look surprised to see him. This was all planned. An ambush that Asmund, and what was most precious to him, was now in the middle of.

“Run Jarl Ulfric! It’s a trap!” Screamed Stormcloak at Ham’s feet. His comrades did not take his advice, instead charging in with wild battle cries. The Imperials charged to meet them and the chaos of battle ensued.

“Leave Ulfric alive! Kill his men!” The hooded Thalmor roared. “The merchant traitors too!”

One imperial turned towards Isabau but she put her fist through his face before he had a chance to do anything. She relieved him of sword and shield while Asmund wrestled another man to the ground, taking up the war-hammer Poyo got from Falkrieth.  
“We need to get to Ham and get out of here!” He said.

“I am your shield, my love. I will cut a path, you watch my back.” Isabau replied, resolve hardening.  
She held up her shield and tried to make her way through the carnage. Steel bashed steel and men let out long cries of pain or rage. In the confusion, the lovers had to defend against both Imperial and stormcloak. A burly Nord with a bear on his shield stood in the way. He crossed swords with Isabau before she and Asmund switched places and the war-hammer split the shield in two.

“Asmund!” It was Mar’s voice. The Orc was on top of a hill looking like he was about to jump into the battle. He would be killed if that happened.

“No Mar!” Asmund strained his voice to its limit. It was the only way he would hope to be heard over the battle. “Take Thistle and RUN!”

Mar stopped, starting in disbelief. Asmund knew Orcs like Nords never believed in running from a fight. He hoped for Mar’s sake that pride did not compel him to charge forward. Thistle appeared behind him, covering her mouth in a scream. Mar and Asmund made eye contact one last time; the Orc gave a single slow nod and without a word he scooped up the mage and ran in the opposite direction.

Meanwile, the Thalmor had Ham on the retreat. The she-elf that disagreed with the hooded Thalmor refused to fight Ham, opting instead to go after Ulfric. That still made Ham’s fight two on one. Luckily, the one in the hood was a coward and held back, letting his underling do the fighting. He only occasionally shot lightning, which Ham blocked using a lesser-ward in one hand. It was the one spell Thistle had taught him and he could not hold it for more than a few seconds. He was no mage so he had not the magicka to sustain it. 

“Miserable worm! If you had just given up, your family may have lived.” The hooded Thalmor squawked. He cast another chain of lightning that Ham kicked his opponent into. The armored elf howled as the lightning made his body spasm. The hooded Thalmor was forced to stop casting his spell, leaving an opening for Ham to attack. The bard jumped out from behind the armored elf and charged the hood with his dagger. He caught the elf on the cheek, slicing to the bone. The Thalmor screamed in pain, hurling backwards, clutching his injury. 

“No one threatens my family!” Ham shouted. He readied his knife for another attack but the other elf was getting back up. He spun around to block the elf’s sword, catching the blade with his dagger.

Crack!

Surprise briefly flashed across Ham’s face as the old dagger snapped. Unhindered, the sword stabbed his shoulder and sliced down his chest. Ham’s mind didn’t register what had happened. Then excruciating pain came, followed by impossible cold. 

“No!!!” Asmund roared when he saw his brother go down. The elf never knew what hit him when Asmund leaped forward and swung the war-hammer into his head. In his rage, Asmund hit him a few more times to make sure he was dead.

Ham was looking at sky when he heard Asmund scream his name. Everything was so cold, he couldn’t think. His vision blurred as blackness began to close in around him.

“Stay with me, Pup!” Isabau’s face appeared over him as hot pain bloomed in his cheek from her slap.

“Sister…” he whimpered as the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. The bitter taste of healing potion joined it, but it did little for the pain.

“Don’t move. I must stop the bleeding!” Isabau cried. She put pressure on the gash in his shoulder but blood continued to gush through her fingers. Magic potions had their limits.

“S-sorry…my f-fault…” Ham murmured eyes glazing. Isabau shook him and he had a moment of clarity as he saw a bear shield charging. “Isabau look out!”

Isabau turned her head but wasn’t fast enough to shield herself. The metal rim of an shield took her in the temple and sent her sprawling. She landed face down in the grass and lay motionless.

“Isabau!” Asmund tried to rush to her side but was hit in the back with a bolt of lightning. It surged through him, making his teeth clack but he didn’t go down. His grip tightened on his hammer as he stalked towards the Thalmor mage that Ham had cut. The elf kept up his lightning but Asmund still moved forward through the spell.

“Fall! Why won’t you fall!” The Thalmor screamed.

Asmund continued, numb to the pain, he didn’t feel his war injury straining his arm nor did he feel the exhaustion of battle, the only thing he felt was rage. He’d lost everything, the caravan he had worked so hard to build, the brother that he swore to protect and the woman he wanted to start a future with. There was nothing the Thalmor the Empire nor all the plains of Oblivion could do to hurt him now.

In an act of desperation, the Thalmor used up the last of his magicka to hold up a defensive ward. Asmund brought down his hammer, shattering the ward with a crash. The Thalmor let out a wheeze and coughed up blood but he was still alive. Asmund raised the hammer again to make the final blow but a blade struck him from behind. Blood sprayed and his fingers let go of the hammer. His entire right arm went numb as the nerves were severed. If the imperial that stabbed him thought it would stop him, he was sorely mistaken.  
Whirling around with his left arm, he caught the man in a choke hold and used his weight to break his neck. He saw the Thalmor scuttle away with a shriek just as another Imperial came to the aid of his comrade. Asmund couldn’t move, fight was still in him but he couldn’t will his broken body to get back up. The soldier raised his sword to cut him down and Asmund accepted his fate.

A woman’s battle cry erupted as the form of Isabau leaped in front of Asmund. She parried the imperial’s swing with an elven sword and ran the soldier threw with the steel sword in her other hand.  
“You will not have him!” She growled, sliding the man’s body off her sword.

“You’re alive..?” Asmund murmured, not fully believing what he was seeing. Isabau fell to her knees, catching him before he slumped over.

“I’m here! I’m here my love!” She said cupping his face. There was a deep cut just above her brow that smeared blood down her face and across her eyes but she was alive, by the merciful gods, she was alive!

Asmund smiled weakly, eyes going out of focus. “…and Ham?”

Isabau held him close, tears falling from her eyes. She looked to where Ham had been and only saw a motionless heap in the grass. She tore her eyes away from it and focused on her love. She got under his good arm and hoisted him to his feet. “I am getting you out of here.” He was heavy but she was strong. She was going to get him to safety even if she had to carry him.

“Enough! Stop this bloodshed!” Boomed an impossibility loud voice. It belonged to Ulfric Stormcloak, so the rumors were true of his thu’me. “I surrender!”

There was Isabau’s opening, when the fighting stopped, she ran as fast as she could. Beyond was the patch of trees that the Thalmor had first emerged from, now it would serve as cover. Before she entered the trees, Isabau looked back one last time.

“I’m sorry pup…” she whimpered. Asmund made a gurgling sound on her back that scared her.  
She moved into the trees and found a soft patch of earth to lay him down. The injury to his sword arm was the most grievous. A few tendons were the only thing keeping it attached. She wrapped it the best she could but there was not much she could do.  
“Oh Asmund.” She sobbed. “How could this happen to us?”

“I love you.” Asmund murmured as blood gurgled in his mouth. All the color drained from his face leaving it a sickly grey. “I…love…you…”

“Don’t Leave me, Asmund!” Isabau cried, gently cradling his head. “We still need to get married, You need to see the children we will have…please don’t leave me I love you!” 

Asmund managed one last smile with her words of love and then was gone. Isabau’s screams of agony echoed through the trees and across the mountains. All her enemies no doubt heard her, she would not be able to hide.  
It didn’t matter, Let them come she thought. They would either send her to Sovngarde with Asmund or she would send them to oblivion if they so much as touched her. She wanted them to try, she wanted to feel anything else than agonizing grief.

But they never came, and Isabau was left alone as the dark of night descended on Skyrim. As she lay there next to Asmund in the cold, she felt exhaustion dragging her away from consciousness. Before her eyes closed, she swore she heard the beating of great wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poyo- Alright everyone, I got the horse back!
> 
> Sees the Imperials capturing the Stormcloaks
> 
> Poyo- What the hell happened?!
> 
> Imperial- Hey you!
> 
> Poyo- Oh shit!
> 
> Runs away


	5. Unbound pt.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Harbinger lays the dead to rest. The Dragons make their return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue is taken from an alternative opening mod.

Dawn had not yet come when Isabau dug the grave. The ground was still soft from the rain so she made do without a shovel. Using instead, a broken piece of shield she found by the trees.  
She didn’t cry. She couldn’t, having spent them all the previous night.  
She dug mechanically, she was hands and arms and feet, not a whole person. When the hole was deep enough she dragged Asmund’s body to it and gently laid him down. She kisses his forehead one last time before filling in the grave. Once it was covered with dirt she found a few good stones and piled them on top.

Something should be said, she knew. Something offered so that his soul may rest, but her throat was raw and she had nothing to leave. A Priest Should be here but there was not one for miles. She could get something from the carts if they weren’t completely looted yet, but that meant crossing the bloody field where the battle had been.

Isabau peeked out of the trees at the field. Orange morning light bathed it in warmth that reminded her of fire. One of the wagons was still intact on the far side, so she decided to risk it. She walked, covered in dirt, trying not to look at the bodies rotting on the ground. She had not seen so many dead since a mine collapse when she was a child. Her older brother had been killed in that disaster. She remembered her father carrying him out, just a mangled mess of broken bones. Her father said a prayer for him and the other miners lost. Isabau hoped she still knew the words.

The wagon still had a few apples in a barrel, as well as a bottle of Alto wine and a coin purse that Ham had stashed away. Her poor little pup, he hadn’t even reached one in twenty, a year younger than her brother when he had died. After she said the prayer for Asmund, she would find Ham and lay him to rest as well. She wasn’t going to let him rot here!

She placed the offerings on Asmund’s grave, saving a few coins and an apple for Ham. When she opened her mouth to say the prayer no words came out. Instead there was a tearless sob that hurt her chest. Biting back her grief she went on.

“Come to me, Arkay, for without you, there is neither breath nor beginning, nor can any man live, love, or learn without the spark of your spirit.” She rasped, continuing the prayer in her head. When everything was said she returned to the field to find Ham.

Only the bodies of Stormcloaks were left. The Imperials had taken away their dead. Isabau returned to the spot where Ham went down but his body was not there. A couple bodies were stripped and leaned against posts as warnings to any rebel sympathizers. Among them was a young Nord with black hair that Isabau mistook far Ham at first. She later cursed her relief when she saw that it wasn’t. It was horrible no matter who it was. The Thalmor had done this before, it worked to keep people in fear, the empire had been benevolent until they came along.

She showered the rest of the field, finding no trace of Ham. Her search grew more frantic as dawn turned to morning. She looked at every dead face but his was not among them. Exhausted, she fell to her knees and put her face in her dirty and bloody hands.

“You monsters!” She screamed, rocking back and forth. “Where have you taken him?!”

 

The world was moving. No…he was moving. He recognized the swaying and rocking as a wagon. Horses snorted, swatting flies with their tails. There was a slight breeze chilling his skin but sunshine was warm on his face.

Had it all been just a bad dream?

The pain that stabbed through his shoulder quickly banished that thought. Ham’s eyes opened on the face of a blonde man with a short beard. For just a moment, he thought it was Asmund, but his eyes adjusted and the face was wrong. Moving was painful and his shoulder protested every breath.

“Ow.” Ham hissed audibly, gaining the attention of the man in front of him.

“Hey, You’re finally awake!” The man greeted with a smile that took Ham aback. He recognized him now; It was the Stormcloak soldier he had defended from the Thalmor.

Next to him was the thief that tried stealing Asmund’s horse. Beside Ham, a large bearded man with a gag around his mouth. All of them had their hands bound and when Ham looked down he found the same of his own wrists.

“Who--what happened?” Ham asked dumbly, not being able to recall the exact events that brought him to the wagon.

“You were trying to cross the border right?” The Stormcloak asked and Ham nodded. “Well you got caught in that Imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there.”

“My brother and sister in-law, are they alright?!” Ham pleaded. “Did they get away?!”

“Can’t say that I know for sure if they escaped, but they aren’t prisoners like us if that makes you feel better.” Ralof said, solemnly.

“…then there is still hope.” Ham murmured. He tried telling himself that hope was enough but doubt tugged at his heart.

“Hey, I’m Ralof.” The Stormcloak introduced himself. “And you—”

The thief cut him off. “Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you showed up. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been half way to Hammerfell.”

“A Khajiit was following you. What happened to him?!” Ham grunted through his pain.

The thief looked up, annoyed at first but his eyes softened when he recognized Ham. Must have remembered the bard’s act of mercy. “Cat caught me and was bringing me back to the wagons. When he saw the Imperials loading up prisoners, he left me and ran off…You and me, we should be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.”

“We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief.” Ralof huffed.

The man driving the wagon turned and shouted for them to be quiet. Ham’s shoulder still hurt but he should have been dead. Going over the foggy memories, he was sure the Thalmor had struck a killing blow.

“Bad hit you took back there. Patched you up best I could, well, the best the Imperials would let me.” 

Ham looked at Ralof and then the linen that covered his wound. “…Thank you.”

“Was the least I could do…after what you did for me.” The Stormcloak shifted his feet. “It takes a special kind of man to defend a stranger against the likes of the Thalmor.”

*mmhhh* The gaged man nodded in agreement. The thief eyed him suspiciously.  
“What’s wrong with him?” The thief asked.

The question offered Ralof. “Watch your tongue! You are talking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true King of Skyrim.”

Ham shivered. So THIS was the man himself. He was tall and broad like the bards sang at the college but nowhere near as ugly or monstrous as many songs described. Not everyone gets to choose who tells their story, Ham thought.

“The leader of the rebellion?!” The thief fidgeted anxiously. “If they’ve captured you—oh gods! Where are they taking us?!”

It wasn’t hard for Ham to guess and Ralof seemed to guess the same. “I don’t know where we’re going but Sovngarde awaits.”

Sovngarde. Would Ham even be welcome in such a place? Mother had always spoken of it as a paradise for warriors and people of great renown…Ham was neither of these things. Neither was the thief, going by his blubbering.

“What villages are the two of you from?” The Stormcloak asked as the wagons approached the gates of a town. “A Nord’s last thoughts, should be of home.”

Home? Ham didn’t want to think of home. He didn’t want to think of how his mother would react to this news. He had no idea if Asmund made it out or if Isabau survived. It was supposed to be a happy day for them. Everything was ruined…was that his fault?

“Rorikstead, I’m from Rorikstead.” The thief said finally.  
The town name rang a bell, it was place Ham had met the Half-Orc Elishiva. The beautiful Warrior that had captured his inspiration. He still had half a song to finish about her. Now, he would probably never get the chance.

It suddenly dawned on Ham that his journal was missing. He’d tucked it in his tunic just before battle and he didn’t remember losing it. His boots were gone too, probably looted while he was out. They weren’t worth anything, they were just good leather. The journal meant more to him, Why would anyone take it?

The gate to the town opened and the thief prayed to the divines; Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh and so on. Ham said his own prayers silently. He still couldn’t believe that this was happening.  
Ralof said a prayer to Talos and cursed the Imperials, General Tullius, and the Thalmor waiting inside. The imperial general was arguing with a political looking she-elf. She was demanding custody of the prisoners and Ham felt strangely satisfied when the General didn’t grant it to her.

“Thalmor Bitch.” Ralof muttered under his breath and Ham was inclined to agree.

The Thalmor from the ambush were there too. The She-elf with dark hair and the mage in the hooded robes. The elf that had stabbed Ham wasn’t among them. The mage that Ham cut briefly made eye contact with him, flashing a smile that made Ham sick to his stomach. Those yellow eyes were filled with such malice, hatred even. He held up the tattered remains of Ham’s journal in a mocking gesture and whispered something to an imperial captain.

Ham grit his teeth, holding his tongue and looked away. If his hands weren’t bound he would have a few choice gestures for the Thalmor; but he wouldn’t rise to the Thalmor’s taunt. Asmund would not have wanted if.

“This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny ...when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.” Ralof said nostalgically. 

Ham remembered Helgen from Asmund’s stories. One of note was hiding in the potato barrels and scaring travelers. That one always made Ham laugh because it was so out of character for Asmund to me mischievous. He grew up here, just like the young boy watching the wagons as they passed. The boy’s father looked like he knew what was going on and wisely ordered his son inside. 

“Come inside little cub.”

“Why daddy? I wanna watch the soldiers.” The boy wined.

The man looked over Ham and the soldiers and pulled his son away. “Inside, now!” 

Asmund was born here and now Ham would die here. Gods had a sense of humor it seemed.

The cart pulled to a stop. The other prisoner wagons were already unloaded. The thief started to squirm again, insisting that he and Ham were not rebels. Ham thought it was kind of the thief to include him in his pleas, but the Imperials were having none of it.

“Shut up and don’t even think about running!” Boomed the captain irritability. She seemed to enjoy the power she had over the prisoners before her.

The Sargent, a Nord in an imperial uniform, held a list and quill beside the captain. “When I call you up, state your name and village of origin.”  
He was polite but still giving away that he wasn’t completely comfortable with what was going on. Ulfric was up first, because of his gag, the Imperial soldier spoke for him.

“Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm. Guilty of murder and high treason. Sentenced to Death.”

Ulfric stood stoically, held his head up high, and marched towards the block. He showed no fear in the face of death, something Ham admired. His own legs felt stiff and his heart began racing. He had to do something to convince the Imperials to let him go. 

“Next Prisoner.”

“You know who I am, Hadvar!” Ralof shouted.

The Sargent looked up from his list, a regretful expression on his face. “Ralof…”

Ham sensed a history between the two men. It was possible they were from the same village.

“Ralof of Riverwood, proud son of Skyrim.” Ralof announced.

“Stormcloak, sentenced to…death.” Hadvar said as Ralof joined Ulfric by the block. “Next prisoner.”

“Lokir, and I am not a rebel!” The thief protested. He made a break for it before Ham could stop him. “All I did was steal a horse! I don’t deserve to—”

An arrow pierced him before he could finish. He didn’t even make it five meters. Now he lay dead in a growing puddle of blood. Ham didn’t see where the arrow came from but guess the archer was perched on the tower. That’s where Ham would shoot from.

“Come up to the line, prisoner. Nice and easy.” The Sargent’s voice startled Ham as he was zoned out. “Who are you?”

“Hammond…of Cyrodiil.” Ham said, mouth dry. “I’m with a merchant caravan, I’m a bard by trade—”

“We Just asked your name.” The captain barked.

Hadvar went over his list with a puzzled expression. He looked Ham up and down, with the common clothes and no boots, he didn’t have the look of a rebel.

“Captain, What should we do? He’s not on the list.” 

For a moment Ham felt relieved. Then the captain replied. “Forget the list! He’s going to the block.”

Hadvar looked like he disagreed but he held his tongue. “By your orders captain. I’m sorry, Hammond, we’ll make sure your remains are returned to Cyrodiil.”

“Wait you can’t—” Ham’s words were cut off by the burning of his throat and behind his eyes again.

The captain grabbed him by the arm and yanked his head down so he would look her in the eye. “You some sort of mage? What’s wrong with your eyes?”

“I’m not—I don’t know!” Ham hissed. She was pulling on his injured side and he felt the wound reopen. She shoved him to the block where a fiery red headed Stormcloak was egging on the executioner.

“My ancestors are smiling down on me Imperials! Can you say the same.” He declared just as the headsman’s ax took his head off.

“Fuck!” Ham turned his eyes away, his heart beating even faster. This was happening, he was going to die.

“Next, the renegade from Cyrodiil!” The captain said ordering Ham to lay his head on the block.

Why him? Ulfric was still alive, wasn’t he the one they wanted to make an example of? That Damned Thalmor! He must have told her to do this.

Ham’s expression went from fearful to angry as he lay is head down. He was still terrified but he wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of him showing it. The headsman stood above him, raising his ax. Ham couldn’t choke out his last words, his eyes and throat continued to burn. 

“What in oblivion is that?!” General Tullius shouted, causing the headsman to stay his ax.

The sound of wings returned, followed by a loud roar. Ham thought it was his imagination again but the screams of the villagers said otherwise. An enormous shadow cast over the execution block. With a crash, an enormous beast landed on the watchtower. Black as coal it was, with jagged spikes that covered its back and gaping maw. Its eyes were small and piercing, like two embers that burned in a sea of black.

“Dragon!” The villagers screamed. “Gods help us!”

“Archers!” The captain ordered only for the beast to let out a thunderous roar.

It shook Ham to his very soul. When he tried to stand he found his legs had turned to pudding. Wicked clouds swirled above where the dragon perched, the sky itself opened up and rained fire down on Helgen.  
Not fire! Anything but fire!  
The screams of all the villagers were drowned out by the crashing and d shaking of the earth when the fire landed.

Ham was in a paralyzed daze when he felt an arm tug him to his feet and Ralof’s voice shouting at him. He didn’t understand the words, only that the Stormcloak wanted him to follow him. Snapping himself out of it, Ham ran with Ralof into a second watchtower. Ulfric and the rebel survivors were already there and slammed the door once Ham and Ralof were inside.

“Ralof, You’re alive! Thank Talos.” Ulfric greeted, having disposed of the gag.

“What is that thing?!” Ralof panted. “Could the legends be true?”

“Legends don’t burn down villages.” Ulfric said as the dragon roared, making the entire tower shake. He gave Ham a suspicious look before his expression softened. “You’re that lad that stood up to those elves.”

“Yes…” Ham nodded. He wasn’t sure how he should address the man. “People call me Ham, my Jarl.”

Ulfric grinned. “Well friend, I’d ask you to join the rebellion but I think we’re all a bit busy trying to stay alive.”

A joke. With how horrible everything had been going it was the highlight of Ham’s morning. He chuckled but was quickly reminded that his wound had reopened. The pain made him hiss and concerned the other prisoners.

“Damn! You’re bleeding again.” Ralof cursed, inspecting the linens.

“If we don’t close that He’ll get an infection…if he doesn’t bleed to death.” Ulfric grunted, taking out an iron dagger and holding it in the flames of a torch. “Ham, drink some of that ale the guard left. You are going to need it.”

It finally clicked what Ulfric was planning. Ham felt the urge to run. “Wait…no. No no no…”

“It will be worse if we don’t.” The Jarl said gruffly. “Ralof, help me out.”

“No, Please! Not fire!” Ham shouted as Ralof grabbed his arms and held him still. It wasn’t difficult since no one had bothered to cut Ham’s binds yet.

“Have courage, I know you have it in you.” Ralof said, lifting the bottle of ale so Ham could drink. He showed Ham his arm where his own wound was cauterized. “No shame in screaming.”

Reluctantly, Ham gulped down what ale he could and stayed as still as he could. Ulfric walked up with the glowing hot dagger.

“Ready?”

Ham nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt the cold metal of the Jarl’s gauntlet before the searing pain of the dagger on his wound. Ralof said there was nothing shameful in screaming, so he did.  
When it was over, Ham was sure he was going to pass out. The sound of the dragon slamming against the tower kept him alert.

“We’ve got to move now!” Ulfric boomed.

The tower shook again and the dragon’s head burst through the stone wall. Its jagged maw opened and out blew terrible flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ulfric slides on a pair of shades.
> 
> “Grab the axes and bring the mead. It’s time to do rebel shit.”


	6. Unbound pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ham tries to escape Helgen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love mods

The beast scorched everything in its path. It snapped up one of the Stormcloaks before taking to the air again. Its wings created a suction that pulled Ham out the hole the dragon had created. He unceremoniously landed in a burning inn on the other side of the tower. _The_ _gods_ _must_ _hate_ _him_ , he thought. He was separated from the Stormcloaks now and had to crawl to escape the inn.

Crawling made his shoulder throb but at least it wasn’t bleeding anymore. Smoke burned his lungs and eyes; a different burn to what he had experienced before the dragon attacked, but still a familiar one. Cinders fell on his unprotected feet and he tried to push back the all too similar childhood memory. His room engulfed in flames; his leg pinned under a fallen beam...Asmund pulled him out of that fire, Ham was on his own this time.

When he finally emerged, he coughed loudly and gulped in the smokeless air with greed. he found the father and son from earlier. The father was laying in the street in a puddle of blood while the son was shaking him.

“Come on papa! You gotta get up!” The child sobbed. “Get up! It’s coming back!”

The father made a valiant attempt to push himself up but couldn’t stand. Ham looked frantically from an opening in the wall that he could possibly fit through and the father and son. The dragon was circling back around. It would be on top of them in a matter of minutes. Ham looked at the opening again.

“Damn it!” He cursed under his breath before running over to the villagers. He grabbed the father’s arm with two bound hands and pulled with all his might. The man was heavy, well-built and Ham couldn't lift him with a bad shoulder. “Come on! On your feet!”

“Yes!” The boy shouted. “Get up daddy, you can do it!”

“Leg’s...broken...I cannot stand.” The man coughed, arm going limp. The dragons roar was getting closer. Ham kneeled down and shook the father as the boy had. The man’s eyes opened and widened when he saw who was trying to help him. “You?”

“Do you have anything to cut these ropes?” Ham asked. The man looked dazed but shook his head. Ham sighed in disappointment but stayed with him. “Alright, put your arms around my neck, I might be able to carry you that way.” The man shook his head. “Dragon is right there! Forget your pride and think of your son! He--”

The man pointed to his gut where a jagged piece of wood was protruding, blood spilling out. Ham felt the urge to gag. “I’m done for...you need to run while you still can.”

“No, you’re not!” The boy shouted. He started tugging on Ham’s tunic pleadingly. “Please Help him! Do something!”

“Get off the road!” Shouted an old man. He and Hadvar were racing towards them. “Run! Get off the road!”

“It’s alright, son.” the father said, smiling weakly. “Go with this man, be brave little cub.”

“Run! Torolf, Haming Run!” Hadvar shouted. Ham felt a whoosh of air. The ground shook as the dragon landed. Its eyes locked on Ham the way a cat’s lock onto a mouse. Ham didn’t think, only scooped up the boy and ran.

“Make me proud.” Torolf shouted after them.

 

 _ **Yol**_ _**Toor**_ **_Shul!_**

 

“Papa!”

Ham’s ears rang and a wall of flames rose up to chase him. He could feel the heat on his back as he ran towards Hadvar and the old man. The looks of horror on there faces made him run faster.

“Gods…Torolf…” Hadvar said mournfully. He drew his sword as the old man continued to wave them over.

“Let me go!” The boy kicked, trying to struggle out of Ham’s arms when they reached the others. Ham couldn’t stop him, having barely been able to pick him up in the first place.

“Okay, just a—” Ham wheezed as the child hit his bad shoulder. He dropped him and the boy landed on his feet.

“How could you?! You just left him there!” The boy sobbed, flailing a few more punches Ham’s way. The old man stopped him and dragged him behind a pile of rubble for cover. “He left papa to die!” The boy shouted again.

“I’m…sorry…” Ham panted. There was nothing he could have done. That’s what he told himself, but hearing the screams of the boy mourning his father, he still felt guilty.

“Gunnar, take care of him. I have to find General Tulius and join the defense.” Hadvar turned back to ham who was ready to try explaining himself. The Sargent held up a hand before he could get any words out. “Hammond, right? Stay close to me if you want to get out of this alive.”

“Gods guide you, Hadvar.” Gunnar said. He gave Ham a look of gratitude, nodding once and readying himself to leave with the boy.

The dragon took off again, all four survivors dropping low to the ground until it passed. Hadvar shoved Ham in the direction it was flying. Ham did as Hadvar instructed and followed him through another collapsed structure. When they came out the other side the dragon was on top of them again, landing on top of a stone wall. Luckily, the beast hadn’t seen them yet.

“Stay close to the wall.” Hadvar whispered, pressing himself as flat as he could against the structure.

Ham did the same, having to bite his tongue when an enormous black wing brushed against him. It was almost as hot as the fire, and smelt of brimstone and rotting flesh. Hadvar scrunched up his nose to say it smelled just as bad to him.

 

_**Yol Toor Shul!** _

 

The dragon scorched another building before taking off. The shockwave from its wings nearly knocked both men to the ground. When the dragon moved on, it’s stench lingered.

“Did you hear that? It said something.” Ham gasped.

“Said something?” Hadvar raised an eyebrow. “Did you hit your head? Nevermind, Follow me.”

“Wait!” Ham shouted after him. “Untie me!”

“Once we get some place secure.” Hadvar said. As they ran past a group of Mages throwing fireballs at the dragon. Why they thought fire would work on a dragon was beyond Ham.

“Hadvar!” General Tullius shouted as they approached. “Regroup with the others! We’re leaving!”

“Yes, Sir!” Hadvar said, running to where several other Imperials were waiting on the wagons.

“Where are you taking me?!” Ham stopped in the middle of the road. Was Hadvar just taking him to another prisoner wagon? Is that why he refused to untie him? “Am I just being lead to another execution?!”

“No!” Hadvar shouted, urging Ham to move. “I don’t…Prisoner—eh, Hammond! I won’t let that happen to you. Come with me. I’ll get you out of here and—”

“Don’t listen to him!” Ralof charged out of the keep on the opposite side from the wagons, ax in hand, dagger in the other.

“Ralof! You damn traitor!” Shouted Hadvar, holding up his sword defensively.

Ralof stepped forward, handing Ham the dagger. “We’re escaping, Hadvar. You’re not stopping us this time.”

The dragon swooped overhead making the ground shake. Hadvar looked from Ralof the the wagons and back. “Fine! I hope that dragon takes you to Sovngarde!”

Hadvar ran to the wagons and Ralof ran to the keep. Ham hesitated, weighing his options before following Ralof. Hadvar seemed sincere in his desire to help but that didn’t mean the other imperials would be as willing. There was also no telling if that Thalmor would show up again. Ham doubted Hadvar would stand by his word if the elf ordered otherwise.

The heavy door to the keep closed behind them and Ulfric was already there waiting. He knelt next to the body of another Stormcloak, shaking his head when he saw Ralof and Ham. “Gunjar’s gone. Did no one else make it?”

“No my lord.” Ralof sighed mournfully. He knelt next to his fallen brother, closing the man’s eyes and whispering a prayer.

“There has to be another way of escape, right?” Ham asked. “Maybe the others got out already. Did you try the door?”

“Locked.” Ulfric stood back up and furrowed his browns. Ham was still bound, awkwardly holding the dagger Ralof gave him. Still no boots, still in his torn and bloody tavern clothes. “Here, hand me that dagger so I can get those bindings off.”

“Thank you.” Ham said as the Jarl sliced through the ropes. He was finally able to stretch his arms, hissing as he gingerly touched the sores on his wrists. They were raw from the binds rubbing and stung when the air hit them. He still had the burning sensation in his eyes but it was dulled now.

“A dragon here!” Ralof exclaimed. “Just like the children’s stories…The bringers of the end times!”

“I sang about dragons in taverns for years…I never thought I’d actually see one.” Ham said, recalling the performance from Just the other night. “Where could it have come from?”

“I don’t know where it came from but without it we would all be a foot shorter and a lot less talkative.” Ulfric said. Ham raised a hand to his throat, realizing how right the Jarl was.

Ralof tapped Ham on the shoulder, gesturing to the body. “You may as well take Gunjar’s gear. He won’t be needing it anymore.”

Ham didn’t like the thought of wearing a dead man’s clothes. The other issue was the matter of size differences. The Nord was a big man, broad shoulders with large hands and large feet. When Ham tried on a boot, his foot slid around uncomfortably. The armor was even worse, It reminded him of trying on his father’s clothes as a child. The only garments that kinda fit were a chain mail shirt and a leather tunic, if he wore them over his old clothes.

“Good, get that armor on and give this ax a few swings.” Ralof said as he handed Ham the heavy iron weapon. “In case we run into more Imperials.”

Ham frowned, Asmund’s words ringing in his head. “I don’t want to kill anyone.”

“They won’t share your sentiment.” Ulfric huffed, as he irritability messed with the locked door. “If you refuse to fight, what use are you?” The heavy door still refused to budge and Ulfric lost his patience.

 _Fus_ _Ro_ _d--!_

A concussive shout erupted from the Jarl’s throat and hit the door. A crack splintered near the edge but it didn’t open. Ham stood dumbfounded, his mouth hanging open. Rumor was that Ulfric Stormcloak started the civil war by murdering the High King with just his voice. Fanciful nonsense spread by the common folk, Ham had thought. Now it was looking as true as the legends of dragons.

Ulfric clutched at his throat, coughed, then pounded his fist into the wood in frustration. “Damn it...”

“Are you alright, my lord?” Ralof asked, but Ulfric shook his head.

Ham pulled himself together, fumbling around in his pockets. The imperials had taken all his usual tricks he had up his sleeve but had missed one secret he had stitched into his tunic. His heart leaped when he held the small bundle in his hand. Ralof raised an eyebrow as it unraveled, revealing three lockpicks and a piece of chalk.

“I may not be much good in a fight but I bet I can get that door open.” Ham said, kneeling to inspect the lock.

Ulfric groaned. “You could have led with that, bard.”

“I only just got my hands back.” Ham huffed under his breath.

The trick with these heavy doors was to jam the pick into the keyhole and use it and a dagger to turn the whole mechanism. Ham had to feel his way through the process and not turn to quickly or forcefully so not to break the pick. Ulfric’s shout had warped part of the lock and, to Ham’s dismay, the first pick snapped.

“Damn.” Ham hissed, replacing the pick and trying again. He could feel the mechanism moving inside, he just needed to keep his hands steady.

“Hurry up!” Ralof warned. “Imperials are coming!”

Sure enough, Ham heard the Imperial Captain shouting orders to her men. They were coming towards the gate on one side, ready with armor clanging and weapons drawn.

“Hold them off, I’ve almost got this.” Ham said, praying it was true.

The Imperials broke through and clashed swords with Ralof and Ulfric. The sound of clanging steel made it hard to concentrate but Ham tuned it out as best he could. He shifted the pick again and turned the lock slowly. It was nearly all the way around when there was a click, nearly imperceptible with the other noise.

“Got it!” Ham exclaimed, only to be wrenched away from the door and flung onto his back.

The captain stood over him, hesitating when she saw who he was. “You! You had something to do with that dragon!”

“Me?!” Ham brought up a foot and kicked her away. Gunjar’s boot came off his foot making it awkward to stand back up. She took a swipe at him with her sword, just grazing his cheek. It was just enough to make him bleed, a warning more than an attempt on his life.

“Where did that monster come from?! How did you call it down upon us?!” She growled, setting the tip of her sword under his chin. Ham tried to get away but his back hit the wall. Ralof and Ulfric had their hands full with her men so they wouldn’t be coming to save him.

She was insane! Why would she think HE of all people was the cause of all this?

A crash from outside shook the whole keep. The dragon was going to destroy this place as well. Ham used it as a distraction to hold up his ward spell, blocking the captain’s sword and grabbing the wrist that held it. She hit him with a hook of her left hand but he managed to wrench the blade away from her.

“You son of a Bitch!” The captain hissed, drawing her dagger from her belt. Ham held up the sword defensively, but it was clear he didn’t know exactly what he was doing. Swords were much heavier than daggers and he had never been proficient with them.

“The dragon is killing, everyone! Can’t we put our differences aside? Just until we can escape--”

She advanced sharply, clanging her gauntlet against his sword. Ham swung reactively and the sword bounced harmlessly off her armor. “I you think I’d ever let you traitors escape, you’re even dumber than you look!”

Well, there went the idea of reasoning with her. Ham stayed on the defensive, keeping his sword raised to block her attacks. Each time steel hit steel, he felt his heart jump. The was too angry, using too much energy and when she slowed down Ham saw an opening and thrust the sword into her side where her armor couldn’t protect her. Ham lunged with his weight behind it and pierced the chest cavity. Blood splattered and the captain made a wheezing gurgle as she slumped to the ground.

This was not the first person he had killed. There had been one before her, a bandit that was raiding the caravan in Cyrodiil. He had been chasing Thistle and Ham had tackled him and gone down a steep hill. Ham got out with scrapes and bruises but the bandit broke his neck. It was nauseating in the moment but all seemed so impersonal compared to now. Ham had seen the weakness, aimed for it with every intention of killing her.

He stood still, crimson coating his blade, breathing so hard he swore all the air had left the keep. Part of him felt sick, another felt a surge of pride at beating a foe who had tried to end his life twice that day. Mostly he felt numb.

Ulfric and Ralof dispatched her men. The Jarl was sporting a busted lip and a slight limp in his left leg. All three men were tired and bloody. Ralof didn’t comment on Ham’s wide eyes and trembling hands. Ulfric however, motioned to the dead captain and nodded approval.

“Is the door unlocked?” The Jarl asked. Ham could only nod. “At least you’re good for something.”

“Mmhhh—” Ham croaked, his body’s senses returning to him. He became acutely aware of how cold his toes were and how much his cheek stung. He brought two fingers to his face, wiping a smear of blood, hissing at the contact.

“We can find healing potions further in the keep.” Ralof said opening the now unlocked door.

“It gets no easier from here.” Ulfric put a strong hand on Ham’s shoulder and pushed him forward. “The gods help those who help themselves. Close your heart to the death around you. Fight and Live.”

“…yes sir.” Ham pulled back on his missing boot and fastened the captain’s sword belt to his waist.

Fight and Live…A simple task.  
He could do that.


End file.
